//A Chance Encounter...

I walk into the bar on a Sunday afternoon. The crowds, if they're going to come, are not here yet. It's just me, the bartender, me, and two guys shooting pool quietly together, down at the end of the bar. The bartender, a pretty girl, very thin, with long brown hair pulled into a high, tight ponytail nods to me and casually tosses a coaster up onto the bar for me. But I just smile back at her and go sit in a booth by myself. I take off my sunglasses and slip them into my lapel pocket and lay my folded newspaper on the table in front of me.

The bartender walks up to me, ready to serve, ready to chat.

"You're not going to make anything easy for me, are you?" she asks, referring to my chosen distance from the bar.

"Not yet, anyways. Maybe later," I say, and ship leans on the bar railing to my left, all smiles.

"So, what'll I get you?" she asks. Game for anything.

"Hmm, I'm not in the mood for a cocktail, just yet. And I don't drink beer. Why don't we go with an ice water for now and I'll order something stronger later," I look down at my newspaper, freeing her to go.

"Big guy like you doesn't drink beer? I've never heard of such a thing. How does that happen?" she asks, shifting her weight to get more comfortable.

"Dunno. Just did. I hate beer. Looks like piss. Smells like piss. I can't get over the idea that I'm just drinking piss. I don't drink or eat anything that I have to acclimate myself too. I prefer to let my first instincts on the matter, guide me. It's worked so far." I look over at her, but she's walking back to the bar.

"Well, it worked your way to an ice water," she says, her back to me, "Let me know how that turns out for you."

When she returns with the water, she asks if I want to start a tab or order some dinner. I tell her that I'll likely order dinner later. And yes, start a tab. I plan on being here for a while and tap my finger on the newspaper as evidence of my intention.

"Are you meeting someone here?" she asks. "Maybe I know them."

"You probably do," I tell her, "I'm here to meet an old college friend that I haven't seen for a while. You'll see."

"Well, let me know if you need anything," and she turns to leave once again. This time, I watch her walk. Long, thin legs that are the mark of a dancer or a gymnast. I observe the grace of movement as she ducks under the railing and back behind the bar and think, "Dancer. Someone used to be a dancer."

I go back to reading my paper as the two guys quietly play pool down at the end of the bar.

TO BE CONTINUED...